2015—the Year of Living Dangerously

Wang Lili

When I decided to write something about my life in 2015, the title of a 1982 movie starring Mel Gibson crossed my mind: The Year of Living Dangerously. Um, that’s a pretty good summary of what happened to me in the past year.

After spending a pleasant year in my son’s comfortable home in West Vancouver, I went back to Beijing in May with the plan of returning to my haven in June. The planned short stay of a month and a half in Beijing was extended to five months! The reason is that I had a major heart surgery which I had tried to avoid for ten years. While in Beijing I had regular yearly check-ups for my heart condition. When I showed the results to Doctor Men Xu in Anzhen Hospital, one of the top hospitals in China specializing in heart surgery, the doctor, an expert of heart valve surgery, said with unquestionable authority, “Two of your valves need fixing. You must have surgery. In fact, it is already late at your age. You should have had it two years ago.”

        Well, on June 18, I found myself in a crowded ward in Anzhen Hospital. To make a long story short, the operation went smoothly. Ten days later, I was released from the hospital. My doctor, not the senior expert who cut open my chest and repaired my heart valves while my life was dependent on a breathing machine and blood circulation outside my body (sorry, these may not be the correct medical terms), but a younger one who was assigned to be in charge of me, told me that I would recover more quickly once I got home. With such anticipation I left Anzhen.

     Yet, things did not develop in the direction I had expected. Three or four days passed, but my health was not improving. Instead, strange things were happening to me. My legs were getting heavier and weaker, and my breathing more difficult. An X-ray check-up showed that my lungs were full of liquid! At the time, Doctor Meng was on a business trip and not available, so my son immediately contacted another doctor in Anzhen whom he had met through his hobby of collecting Leica cameras years ago. Doctor Wang urged me to come back to Anzhen without delay. He got more than 1300 cc liquid from my chest. He described this as a critical condition, saying a delay of one more day would lead to unthinkable consequences. I knew what he meant. I was let out of the hospital after a week of treatment. Both my son and I were greatly relieved.

However, just a few days later another complication occurred. At the time I was staying in a smaller hospital just in case more complications developed, at the suggestion of Doctor Wang. How wise his advice was!  Just a couple of days after I checked into this hospital, my heart beat slowed down to 30 per minute, and my blood pressure fell rapidly below the dangerous level. The doctors did everything to deal with the new emergency. Well, I won’t go into the details. For one thing you may not be interested, and for another I would rather not recall those horrible moments.

Anyway, I survived. 

Looking back at 2015, I felt strongly about two things. One is I learned to be grateful. I am not saying I had no feeling of gratitude in the past. I mean this time I really think that I owe so much to almost everybody who appeared in my life at the hospitals. First, I am grateful to all my doctors, especially Doctor Meng, who met a great challenge in repairing my two valves which had been damaged for sixty years by conducting a successful operation, and Doctor Wang, who saved my life from the dangerous complications. My thanks also go to all the nurses who attended me patiently and professionally (I feel as if I were writing acknowledgements for a book). I even miss the cleaning lady in the wards who greeted me every morning with a broad smile and a soft voice asking me, “Are you feeling better today?”

Of course I was so fortunate that my dear son was with me day and night for the whole period of two months. When I reentered Anzhen, I had to squeeze in with five other patients in the room. Believe it or not, both male and female patients shared the same room! Everybody seemed to be in a pretty bad condition, meaning every patient needed a family remember accompanying them 24 hours. My son, like other family members in the ward, slept on the bare concrete floor at night, that is, if he could get any sleep at all. Without my son’s loving care, I doubt that I could have pulled through. I am also grateful to all my family members, relatives, friends，colleagues, and former students. They all helped me in their different ways. Some of them, knowing the reputation of hospital food, brought me delicious meals they had cooked at home. What warmed my heart most was the friendship of my high school classmates. We were in the same class for three years from the ages of 15 to 18. Then, for decades we lost contact. Only a few years ago when everybody was retired, did we resume the friendship of our youthful days. When they heard about my situation, they did everything to share my son’s burden. Like me, they are well over 70, but they came to see me by taking long bus or subway rides, despite pouring rains or sweltering heat. They treated me like their sister. The list of people I’d like to thank is endless, and I may have left out some, unintentionally and apologetically. With a deeper understanding of the meaning and importance of gratitude, I will do what I can to help those who are in need of help. 

The second thing my hospital experiences taught me is how great and how lucky to be alive and lead a normal life! This is a simple truth, as simple as simple can be. Yet never before have I felt this truth so keenly. In my worst condition, I found myself deprived of many of the normal functions of a human being. For instance, I lost my voice for more than 20 days right after the operation, and I became dumb completely. I had no appetite at all and forced myself to swallow something when a meal was served. Every bite was a struggle as I felt sick and wanted to throw up what I was eating. I was so weak that my hands trembled so violently that even brushing my teeth became a problem. For days, I was completely confined to bed. When I was able to sit up and get off the bed, I walked like a toddler with shaking legs. To make matters worse, I coughed terribly for two months, which interrupted my sleep at night. I had not washed my hair or taken a shower for weeks. Certainly, going outdoors to breathe fresh air was out of the question.

Strangely enough, lying on bed, what I dreamed of was neither a sumptuous buffet dinner, nor a luxury cruise in the Caribbean, but very simple things every able person could do. I thought how happy I would be if I could enjoy eating like a normal person! And how I longed to communicate with people through speaking! How sweet my dream would be if I could sleep soundly just for one night! How delightful it would be if I could sit under the sun to look at the skies and the clouds, admire flowers and smell grass and trees! How nice it would be if I could take a shower! I realized happiness was just a simple thing, and had nothing to do with money or fame. To be able to speak, to see, to breathe, to eat, to sleep, to walk, to taste the world is happiness for those who cannot. I wouldn’t have known how precious these normal functions were if I had not lost some of them temporarily. When I regained them again, I felt truly content, blessed, and privileged. I was the happiest person on earth!

The year of 2015 is slipping away. May the coming new year of 2016 bring happiness to us all!